Poor Jeremiah
by buildmeapyramid
Summary: What an awful rejection! Poor Blaine. Or poor Jeremiah? Involves vandalism and a lot of toilet paper. Rated T just to be safe. Enjoy!


_Okay, I just got out of the shower and was in the process of consuming a massive plate of chicken, broccoli, and potatoes when all of the sudden this idea popped into my head. I'm fairly certain that this is a one-shot; I'm better at them, and they're so much fun to write. So have fun, and please enjoy! It's completely innocent, with hints of Klaine love, but mostly just a lot of mischief and pranking. Enjoy!_

_P.S. My friends and I are under the impression that Jeremiah is impersonating Twilight's own Jasper Hale (the hair is a leading factor in this belief). Are we alone, or has anyone else thought this?_

Kurt rubbed Blaine's shoulder in comfort, trying to smooth over the awkward silence as they sat next to each other in the two-person booth at the café. "Hey, just relax, okay?" he murmured kindly, trying to ignore his own apprehensions about spending the weekend with his heartbroken friend/crush. There would be a lot of chic flicks and chocolate candies and tear-soaked shirts, and he had _just_ bought the new spring Armani collection. Whoever invented Valentine's Day possessed the sort of ironic humor that he could, on any other occasion, be truly impressed with, but today he just felt like throwing every puppy-love stuffed animal and heart mug into Coach Sylvester's Cheerios cannon and blasting all of them to bits. "You slaughtered Robin Thicke in that song!" he said encouragingly.

Blaine let out a dejected little half-sniffle and took a sip of his scalding coffee. "I still can't believe I did that," he said, shaking his head and moping in general at his supposed lack of finesse in the art of wooing. He looked like a puppy that had just been dropped off at a park in a box—it was slightly adorable. "How could I be so delusional?" His head hung so low a stray lock of heavily-gelled hair was very close to being dunked into his coffee cup.

Kurt leaned back and crossed his arms across his chest, going into full diva mode. "Blaine, if he doesn't realize how lucky he'd be to have you, then he's the delusional one." He wanted to bite off his tongue as soon as the words left his mouth.

Fortunately for him, Blaine didn't seem to read very deeply into that statement; he just smiled gratefully and took another sip of his drink, staring down into the murky contents of the cup with a brooding expression on his face. "I just wish I hadn't ruined it all. I mean, you can't really blame him, after all." He shrugged and tilted his head. "I _did _get him fired. And I'm sure he's gonna have a difficult time explaining _why _he got fired in the first place since nobody knows he's gay."

Kurt chose to ignore that last bit—even though Jeremy or Jerry or whatever his name was sort of screamed "gay", in his opinion—and instead simply nodded in sympathy. "He won't be bringing home the bacon for a while, poor fellow," he noted in solemn agreement, but he inwardly rolled his eyes. The guy deserved to get his tires slashed and given a surprise buzz cut, he told himself. That thought gave him an idea, and he smiled broadly, an expression which caused Blaine to look at him in alarm.

"That's your I-solemnly-swear-I-am-up-to-no-good smile," he said warily, scooting away very subtly from the smirking boy. "What are you thinking?"

Kurt just smiled serenely and took a sip of his coffee. "Oh, nothing," he answered lightly, but the devilish gleam in his eyes didn't fade. It only intensified.

LINE HERE

"Kurt, you do realize this is insane." Blaine's voice was disbelieving as Kurt dragged him through the dark parking lot.

Kurt let out a loud, wearied sigh of exasperation, and Blaine could practically see the boy rolling his eyes at him as he pulled him by the jacket sleeve past a banged-up Chevrolet. "Lady Justice doesn't think so," he replied primly as they ducked behind a gargantuan Ford.

Blaine muttered something under his breath about exactly what Lady Justice would think if he committed murder, but Kurt pretended not to hear him, and instead let out a very soft bird noise that slightly resembled the commotion a woodpecker would make if he got a splinter. A few seconds later, a very irritable looking Wes appeared very suddenly next to Blaine, who pressed a shaking hand to his heart and exclaimed softly, "You scared me!"

"Sorry," the boy growled unapologetically, glaring past him at Kurt, who gazed back with a mild expression.

"You're late," Kurt pointed out haughtily, cocking a hand on his hip and for all appearances looking like a diva-gone-mugger in his black ensemble of designer brands, including his favorite silk Marc Jacobs scarf.

Wes glowered ferociously at the boy and hissed furiously, "The Warblers have never, _ever_—"

Kurt waved his hand dismissively. "I know, I know: The Warblers have never, _ever_ done anything so scandalous as a _prank_, heaven forbid!" He narrowed his eyes at Wes and then winked at Blaine. "And it's high time."

"Do you have any idea what would happen if the school found out?" Wes protested in a voice that sizzled with anger as his eyes darted around him fearfully.

"Loosen up, Wes!" Kurt exclaimed softly, peering around the edge of the vehicle they were currently huddled behind. "You can't go through high school without having at least done _something_ worthy of a demerit. It's positively medieval."

"Forgive me for wanting to remain safely secure in the knowledge that I will go to Harvard, instead of ending up at the community college because I was charged with _vandalism_!" Wes's voice was borderline hysterical as he looked pleadingly at Blaine. "Would you please back me up here? This is absurd! We could get expelled!"

Blaine shrugged. "Don't think I didn't tell him that," he replied resignedly. "I even mentioned that my parents would probably transfer me to my dad's old school in Maine."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "You Warblers are even bigger drama queens than I am—and I didn't even know that was possible." He inched out from behind the Ford and darted forward to take refuge behind a burgundy Toyota, motioning with his hand for the other two to follow.

"Kurt, where the hell have you been?" Puck's impatient whisper carried across the pitch-black parking lot, and soon he was huddled next to Kurt and the two Warblers, along with a very irritable-looking Santana. "We've been waiting for like half an hour."

"Sorry," Kurt whispered back, casting a glare at Blaine and Wes. "We had a bit of trouble along the way."

"I brought the spray paint." Puck revealed a plastic bag with a huge grin of anticipation on his face.

"What about the toilet paper?"

"Right here." Santana held up a huge bag full of Angel Soft toilet paper, her expression one of decided frostiness. She had that I'd-rather-be-anywhere-but-here glimmer in her eyes. "Now let's get it over with." She pursed her lips and stared pointedly at the apartment complex that loomed over the parking lot. None of the residents appeared to be awake; all of the curtains were pulled shut, and not a glimmer of light could be seen.

"Wait." Kurt held up his hands. "The rest should be here soon." Santana glared at him but said nothing, and sure enough, a few minutes later, more than a dozen figures clad in black came slinking across the parking lot, most likely trying to be soundless; Kurt thought it was a wonder one of the apartment's occupants didn't wake up and call the cops under the impression that very inexperienced terrorists were setting up an ambush outside the building.

David was the first to reach the car they were hiding behind. "Are we late?" he asked breathlessly, the bag slung over his shoulder making very loud, clanking noises as he crouched next to Kurt.

"Very," Kurt replied coolly, but said nothing more, and David made himself comfortable beside the back tire, his bag still banging around mysteriously.

The others were soon clustered around in a ragged circle, surrounding the small pile of destructive tools they were about to put into use, and Puck rubbed his hands together like a kid on Christmas morning, staring at the items with a delighted grin before looking up and whispering in a serious voice, "Okay, now since you're all probably new to the whole vandalism thing, let me just tell you, as a successful juvy veteran, the three most important things you need to know before I set you loose."

Kurt glanced around at the group, smirking as he realized half of them were too busy staring at Santana to register anything Puck was saying. He snapped his fingers in front of David's face, trying to jar his sense of comprehensive thought, but the boy simply swatted his hand away and resumed ogling the girl. Santana, however, was glaring at every boy like they were poisonous lizards, even as she straightened up and squirmed just a little to give the boys a teasing glimpse skin underneath her black miniskirt. Kurt rolled his eyes and focused once more on what Puck was saying.

"Rule number one," Puck stated emphatically, holding up his forefinger with a stern expression. "Do not—under any circumstances—say each other's names. Use code names like Hot Lips"—he glanced suggestively at Santana—"or Glitter Boy." He rolled his eyes at Kurt, who grinned back. "Number two: let me do the roof-climbing. You guys have no idea how much it hurts to fall down a chimney." He grimaced, most likely as he remembered some occasion which involved him doing a very bad impersonation of Santa Claus, before he added with solemn finality, "And number three: if you have to pee, do it now." He looked pointedly at Kurt, and it was the Glitter Boy's turn to roll his eyes.

"Okay, everybody split up!" Puck said softly, taking command. He pointed at a group of wide-eyed Warblers and hissed, "You guys are in charge of the sewage balloons." The boys cast nervous glances at each other before grabbing a swishy-sounding Wal-Mart bag and heading off toward the apartment building. "You four can do the Silly String, but no messing around," Puck said sternly. "And you guys"—he gestured toward several boys who looked like they _did _have to pee—"are gonna do the toilet papering. Let me know when you need a climber." The boys nodded solemnly and scurried toward the building. Now only Blaine, Kurt, and Santana remained. Puck turned to grin at them and said, "Let's get the spray paint."

LINE HERE

"I can't believe we're actually doing this." Blaine's voice was muffled by his black hoodie as he held it to his nose to alleviate the stench of the sewage balloons a few of the Warblers had seen fit to hang over the apartment door. The balloons had been linked together by a piece of string and the string tied around the door knob so that when the door was opened, the balloons would be catapulted up, hit the ceiling, and burst over the entrance, straight on top of the resident's head. Truly ingenious, in Kurt's opinion.

"The moron deserves it," Kurt told Blaine emphatically, putting the finishing touches on the giant letters they had spray-painted in vivid red on the wall space surrounding the door.

Blaine surveyed the damage in appreciative silence, shaking his head. "I just feel bad for him. I mean, it's just putting salt on the wound, and I'm sure he's a great guy. He was really sweet to me." Kurt rolled his eyes and gave Blaine a look. "I mean before the whole Gap serenade thingy," Blaine added hastily, smirking at Kurt with a twinkle in his eyes.

Kurt nodded indulgently and answered, "I'm sure he was." He moved over and patted Blaine's head condescendingly before focusing once more on the project at hand. "Now where's Puck?" he muttered, surveying the wall with a frown. "I need him to add the egg yolks; I am _not _doing any more damage to my outfit than absolutely necessary to this vandalism."

"Why didn't you just wear old, ratty clothes like everybody else?" Blaine suggested matter-of-factly, tugging on his ripped Harley T-shirt and faded denim jeans.

Kurt gave him a look. "Very funny," he said, tossing his head and pursing his lips as he studied the extensive damage done to Jared's apartment. "If I'm going to be a delinquent, I'm going to be the most fabulous, best-dressed delinquent out there." He shrugged and arched a brow at Blaine. "There is no other alternative."

Blaine tried to contain himself, but a quick snort of laughter escaped him before he could stop it, earning a prim glare from Kurt, who was reaching up with his spray can to add a little something to the wall, while trying his very hardest to remain unmoved by the revolting smell of rotting sewage that permeated the air around the doorway.

"Now if I could just reach—" Kurt frowned in concentration as he stood on tiptoe.

"Need some help?" Puck's whisper came from directly behind Blaine, and the boy nearly jumped a foot in the air, letting out a very quiet squeal that had Puck clamping a hand over Blaine's mouth and whispering furiously, "Shut up, you idiot!"

"Sorry," Blaine mumbled, and Puck whisked his hand away, appearing disgusted with Blaine's nonexistent knowledge of the basics of vandalism, which included the ability to remain _silent_.

"Here, Kurt, let me do that," Puck said quietly after seeing Kurt straining to reach above the door. He took the spray can from him and proceeded to add the final touches to the wall. Kurt backed off to stand beside Blaine and study the graffiti. It had to be one of the proudest, most gratifying moments of his life.

It was around three in the morning when everyone finally gathered before the apartment building and gazed up to the third floor at their marvelous achievement.

"It'll do," Puck observed coolly, nodding his head, but his eyes were alight with the joys of defacing private property.

"If he sues, I deny any involvement in this," Wes said firmly, crossing his arms and glaring it the destruction which he had—denial or no—been a leading organizer of.

"Let's get out of here before someone calls the cops," Santana suggested, looking slightly more pleased with herself than usual as she surveyed the damage with a critical eye.

"I hope he's not _too _upset," Blaine fussed, an adorable frown wrinkling his brow, and Kurt squeezed his hand in comfort, trying not to look as deviously delighted as he felt.

"Everyone's a bit nervous after their first vandalism," Santana noted as they made their way out of the parking lot and toward the cars they had parked just outside the neighborhood. "It takes about twenty or thirty times for the feeling of accomplishment to sink in."

Kurt smiled a bit to himself, feeling incredibly cheerful despite the fact that he had yet to perform his daily moisturizing routine, his clothes were a disaster—not to mention his hair—and he hadn't had a decent amount of shut-eye in over twenty-four hours. He simply couldn't help how happy he was. After all, it was highly satisfying to think of Jasper's reaction upon finding his apartment completely covered in toilet paper and pink-and-red special Valentine's Day Silly String, with little heart-shaped candy wrappers littering the walkway outside and a boxful of dog-poop chocolates and a stuffed teddy bear set on the floor, as well as the gigantic heart sprayed in bright red paint around the door, with "Happy Valentine's Day!" written in enormous letters inside it. And the image of Jeremiah's golden curls drenched with sewage water. That was the best part.


End file.
